Survival
by JessAnders
Summary: A young woman is nearly killed in what may be a random shooting.  Gibbs and Fornell work together to keep her alive and investigate the shooting...First fan fic...please review. Changed rating for mild language in upcoming chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This is my first time posting a fan fic story. Please review. I should have put this in here first, but I'm learning the website and formatting, so it's all new to me.

Disclaimer: I own Jess Canton, but I do not own the characters of NCIS. They all belong to CBS and Donald Bellisario, but then you all know that.

It was a fine, sunny, spring day in the District of Columbia, and Jess Canton took a moment out from her sightseeing to just enjoy the warm spring sunshine and the scent of the cherry blossoms on the soft breeze.

She was recovering from a recent deep loss, the loss of her husband and soulmate of five years. Though she was young, Jess had loved him with all of her soul, and had had a hard time going through all the motions of the funeral, trying to close down the business they'd owned together, and sell off equipment and property no longer needed, as well as paying off old debts with the money from the insurance. All that settled, she'd gone on a much needed trip away from home, away from all that she knew, all that reminded her of the deep and searing pain in her soul.

After several months, Jess was beginning to reach a point where she could again see the simply joys of life, the happiness in a sunny day. And the scent of the cherry blossoms was a joy, in its own way, too. Sitting on a park bench half a mile from the towering Washington Monument, enjoying the sun, was a moment in time she could actually live without the agony of her loss intruding on her. For soon enough, the pain would, indeed, intrude on her again.

After a while, it did intrude, and Jess sighed deeply, stood again, and resumed her walk. She was waiting for a bus, back to the two bit motel she'd been living in, when she heard someone shouting behind her. She'd barely turned to see what was happening, when she saw the barrel of a pistol glinting in the sunlight. Aimed at her.

A man shouting for her to get down faded into the background as Jess froze, shocked at the non-descript man pointing a weapon at her, finger on the trigger, face impassive as he prepared to kill her. She dived for the scant cover of a trash can as the gun went off, and a scream tore itself from her lips as a bullet tore into her thigh. The man vanished into the screaming, fleeing crowd, and as she lay there, bleeding heavily, Jess idly wondered what the hell had happened. The searing pain in her leg was enough to make her pass out, and before she did, she saw a short man in a long trenchcoat cover her as though she were dead.

NOTE: I opted to cut this off here because I wanted to get a feel for posting on this website and what is involved in doing so. I'll update soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or any of the characters. I do own Jess Canton.**

Jess woke with a scream, feeling as though someone were pouring acid on her leg. Burning pain shot through her body as she flailed at the hands holding her. She couldn't see, and that only increased her panic.

"Leave me alone!" she cried out, trying to roll away from the pain, to make it stop.

"Hold her still, Jethro," she heard an English-accented voice say, somewhat hurried and frustrated.

"Goddamn it, let me go," she screamed, trying to kick with the one good leg she still had.

A hard arm clamped across the leg. "Settle down," an equally hard voice answered. "You'll bleed to death if you don't." The voice was the man who'd shouted the warning on the street, she recalled dimly, and she put a hand up to her face, wiping at her eyes, still unable to see.

"You've got blood in your eyes," said another voice, one she didn't recognize. The calm reason in the voice helped settle her nerves, but did nothing to relieve the pain from her leg. "When Dr. Mallard gets your leg patched up, we'll get it cleaned out. Stay calm." Knowing that it was blood that obscured her vision made Jess aware of the fact that her head also hurt.

"It hurts," she whispered, trying not to move. In the next second, the pain intensified again, shot up her leg, and she tried to roll again. She had no idea what "Dr. Mallard" was doing to her, but she knew it couldn't be good. "I don't have any money," she rasped. "But you can have my truck. The key is in my purse."

"You aren't being mugged. We're federal agents," said the first man, with grim humor, and then someone was rinsing the blood from her eyes with warm water. When she could see again, she focused on the man who'd warned her. Balding, with shrewd blue eyes, the man met her gaze steadily.

"You covered me like I was dead," she said, flinching and forcing herself not to look down to her leg. "Like you expected me to die."

"You were supposed to," the man said. "If I hadn't covered you, you would be dead now, trust me." He held up a badge. "I'm Tobias Fornell, FBI."

Jess couldn't focus her eyes on the badge, and her head was spinning. She tried not to throw up, but the pain was impossible, and someone held a trash can up where she could get to it, as she emptied her stomach into it.

"That'll be the side effects of the morphine I injected you with," the Englishman said.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing that time won't heal," the doctor said. "Although I dare say you'll have a scar to be proud of. Jethro, she needs to be in a hospital. This wound needs a surgeon, in a properly-equipped operating theater."

"We can't take her to a hospital," Fornell said. Even in Jess's state, she picked up on the tension and fear in the FBI agent's tone. "If they know she survived, they'll try again. You'll have to do the best you can, Doctor Mallard."

"What happened to me?" Jess gasped.

"You were shot, my dear," Doctor Mallard answered. "You have a deep flesh wound to the quadriceps muscle of your left leg, and I've managed to repair some of the damage. But now I have to close the skin wound. You must hold still, or the stitches could tear."

"I don't suppose you've ever heard of anesthesia?" she said, trying not to hyperventilate from the ferocity of the pain.

"I'm sorry, dear lady, but all I have is morphine, and I've already given you all I dare for now. You are lucky you were not awake for the worst of it."

"The morphine's not helping, Doc. Not at all. Can't you just use duct tape?"

The doctor chuckled as he threaded a half-circle needle. "I'm afraid not. It won't take long to finish, though. We'll have to monitor you closely for infection."

"I don't think I can take much more, Doc," Jess whispered. "I've never been in this much pain in my life."

"This should be done in a hospital, but since it can't, you must hold still, young lady."

She closed her eyes, braced herself against the pain. She forced herself to think about something else. "Agent Fornell, why did someone shoot me? Who was it?"

"All I can tell you is that it looks like it was a hit."

"Why? I'm from a little tiny town in the center of the state of North Dakota, no one here's ever heard of. Why the hell would someone in DC want to kill me?"

Fornell looked a little uncomfortable. "You're a threat to national security. Ever heard of Al Qaeda?"

"On the news. I have nothing to do with them."

"But you hold a federal explosives permit."

"Until the ATF pulls it, like I've asked, yes, I do. But how do you know that? And what does that have to do with anything?"

"All I can say is that certain groups might want to take advantage of your ability to legally obtain domestic high explosives, and certain other groups are charged with seeing to it that you don't."

The wave of anger that surged through her at the words gave her adrenaline enough to pull away from the doctor and make it to her feet, bad leg not withstanding. "Is the FBI accusing me of high treason?" she demanded.

"I never said that," Fornell answered.

Jess crumpled, and the calm-voiced man and doctor caught her, lowered her back to the cot upon which she had woken. The doctor injected her with something, and her body began to stop responding to her. "That was dirty, Doc."

"Do that again, and you may find yourself lying on the table in my morgue," he informed her brusquely. "It won't take much to rupture that artery again, and you can bleed to death in minutes."

"Why shoot me in the leg if they wanted to kill me?"

"Because Fornell distracted him, and you moved," the calm man said, kneeling beside the cot.

"And who are you? An EMT?"

"Jethro Gibbs, NCIS. This is Doctor Donald Mallard."

"Ducky, to my friends," the Englishman added.

"So, I'm surrounded by federal agents, somebody's gunning for me, and I don't have a clue what's supposed to happen next. Yet, you don't seem to want to arrest me. Oh, and I was shot in the leg, the damage from which could still kill me. Great. What next?"

"Right now, there is no next," Gibbs informed her. "All I intend to do is see that you're safe."

"Is there any such a thing?" she said, trying to focus her mind on anything but the pain Ducky was creating as he stitched her leg closed. "Safety?"

"I won't let any harm come to you." Gibbs' face was resolute, strained even, but , by the tone, she knew that he meant it.

"I'd assume it's the CIA that wants me dead, right?"

"What would give you that idea?"

"Come on, Agent Fornell. I may be a hick from the sticks, but I'm not a total idiot. Who else would stage a shooting on a crowded sidewalk in broad daylight?"

Ducky finished closing the wound, and began cleaning blood from the wound.

"I hope you're going to reverse whatever the hell it was you shot in me," she said, closing her eyes to keep from losing her stomach again. "I need to get cleaned up."

"You're not moving for at least a week," Ducky informed her.

She glared, but couldn't move. "I refuse to use a bedpan, Doc."

"Then you have a problem, Miss Canton. Standing up, or even sitting, is out of the question, for a few days, at least. Your injury is quite severe."

"You can't keep me chemically paralyzed like this, not even for a day," Jess snapped. "I'll raise hell, if I have to."

"I can administer a sedative, if you prefer," Ducky said. "I understand your reluctance to place your trust in us, but at the moment, you have no other choice. Jethro is the finest man I know, and if he tells you he'll protect you, he will."

"Why? Since when are NCIS and the FBI working together to save the life of someone like me, to the point of avoiding hospitals, even with a life-threatening wound?"

"The FBI and NCIS aren't working together to save a life," Gibbs said. "Fornell got a tip on the hit, and called me after you were shot. And avoiding the hospital is the only way to be sure that no one finds out you're alive."

"Whoever shot me would be more than happy to correct that mistake." She nodded. "Why don't you just let them?"

"You didn't deserve it," Fornell said. "You've done nothing wrong."

She smiled bitterly, and grimaced. "Apparently, in the new USA, you don't have to do anything wrong to get in trouble. You have only to be capable, and you can be marked for death. Great country we live in, isn't it?"

Exhaustion rolled over her, and she passed out before Fornell could respond.


	3. Chapter 3

A week later, Doctor Donald Mallard allowed his reluctant patient to regain consciousness, after keeping her sedated in order to let the damaged artery in her leg heal. A part time nurse helped her, until that first week was over, then she didn't come back.

Jess spent the majority of her time alone. Dr. Mallard checked on her before and after his shifts at NCIS, and Jess slept much of the time. Between the sedation and the weakness from loss of blood and pain, she didn't have the energy to argue. She didn't eat much, and her nutritional needs were supplemented through intravenous fluids.

After Ducky left, that morning a week after she was shot, Gibbs came back into the room, carrying a tray with food. Eggs, and bacon, by the look of it, and apple juice. She shook her head as she tried, without success, to find a comfortable position on the cot. Her leg throbbed constantly, a litany in perfect time to the beat of her heart.

Gibbs set the tray down on the table beside the cot. "You okay?"

She bit back the sarcastic response she would have given. "I'll live."

When he didn't speak, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs. I don't understand why you're hiding me in your basement, from another federal agency that wants me dead. Why an FBI agent risked his life to try and save mine. Why I'm even considered a threat, for that matter. I couldn't buy explosives here, no matter how hard I tried. I don't have access to storage, and no explosives company is going to risk ATF trouble to provide me with explosives I can't store. I don't get it."

"There was an anonymous tip called in," Gibbs said, his face nearly impassive. "It caught the attention of a few certain people. That's all I know."

The truth of her situation hit her like a ton of hot lead, and she sagged against the pillow. "I assume you've run my record?"

"It's clean," he said. "Almost too clean."

"It's impossible for someone to hit twenty-seven years old without getting even a ticket?"

"It's not likely. The locals think you're responsible for your husband's death, but they can't prove it."

"I'm clean, Gibbs."

He caught the look in her eyes. "Tell me about it, Jess." He'd never used her name before, and the act caught her by surprise.

She sighed, shifted onto her side, facing him. "His death was no accident. I know it wasn't. But it wasn't me who made that crash happen. We had long been in hot water in the town I'm from, and that's because we weren't part of the corruption that pervaded the local law enforcement. They were behind the accident, though I'll never be able to prove it, and they're probably behind this, too." She glanced at her leg, cringed as she recalled the agony of that night. "The bullet that went through my leg was meant for my head, Gibbs. And I'm lying here, defenseless, wondering what's going to happen to me."

"You're here for your own safety."

"I'm not safe, anywhere, and you know it. If the CIA, or whoever it was that shot me, is really determined to kill me, they'll figure out soon enough, that I'm still alive, and they'll make damned sure that changes. The best thing you could do is help me get back to my rig, and I'll get out of here. That way, you won't be at risk when they come for me."

"I have two agents outside."

"How can you do that, and keep a low profile? Don't you think it's going to be pretty obvious to any trained observer that something's going on around here? Good Lord, these people didn't get where they are by being stupid."

Gibbs' face hardened just a bit. "I didn't get where I am by being stupid, either. I know what I'm doing."

Jess sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say you're being stupid. I just feel helpless, Agent Gibbs. You've put your neck out trying to keep me from dying, and I don't know why, but it's not necessary." She met his gaze. "Unless you think there's something to Fornell's statement? That maybe I am a threat to national security?"

She wouldn't have thought that his face could harden further, but she was wrong. "If I thought there was a chance in hell that you are a traitor to this country, you'd be at Gitmo, instead of here. I wouldn't protect you."

Jess nodded. "That's what I figured. So when do I get to get out of here?"

"I didn't think my company was that bad."

"I'm not saying it is, but your boss is going to wonder why you aren't in your office."

"I'm on vacation."

Jess shook her head. "I'm sure your boss buys that. But that's not really my concern. You didn't answer my question. When do I get out of here?"

"When I'm sure you're safe."

"You've got a job to do, and it isn't playing bodyguard to me, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs stood up, making it clear that the conversation was over. "You going to eat, or not?"

She shook her head. "I can't. My stomach's acting up, and if I try to eat, I'll lose it. Thanks, but no thanks." She was formulating a plan, and she needed him to leave her alone if she was to implement it.

Fortunately, he seemed to take her at her word. With no further conversation, he left. Jess took a deep breath, swallowed hard. The wound to her leg still hurt like hell, and she had a hard time pretending it didn't, as she carefully stood up. Her considerable pride wouldn't allow her to complain about it, especially not in front of Gibbs, but she would have given anything for a bit of relief from the relentless throbbing. Smiling at her own success, Jess made her way up the stairs, conscious of the fact that she was clad only in blue scrubs, and that her leg hurt so bad, bad enough that she almost went back to the cot. Determination kept her going, though, and she slipped through the house, quietly avoiding the two agents sitting in the kitchen talking to Gibbs. The back door was open, unlocked, and she slipped through it, managing not to make a sound. Outside the fence, she stopped and took a deep breath. She had no idea where she was, but she knew the address of the motel where her truck was, and she needed to get there.

A couple of miles down the road, Jess spotted a cab, and hailed it. The driver immediately stopped, and she climbed in.

"Where to?"

"I need to go to the Skyline Motel. You know where that is?"

"That's a long way from here. Can you afford it?"

"When I get there, I can. Just get me there."

Not too far down the road, the cabbie looked at her in the rearview. "You on the run from a hospital, lady?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. I'm just on my way back to my hotel."

"Must be some reason you're running around dressed like that. Maybe I should take you to a hospital."

"I just need to go to the motel."

The cabbie shrugged and just drove. A few miles from where she'd been picked up, a black sedan sounded a siren behind them, and the cabbie pulled over. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that it was Gibbs approaching the car. And he wasn't happy. She sighed and closed her eyes, waited for him to open the door. And when he did, she didn't risk a look at him.

"Waiting for an invitation?" he said, the irritation in his voice evident.

"I don't want to go back," she said. "They aren't after you, they're after me. I'm not under arrest, Agent Gibbs."

He leaned down until his face was mere inches from hers. "Do you _want_ to die? Or are you just convinced that leaving will change their opinion?" he asked her quietly.

"You don't know for sure that I'm a target at all. It could have been a simple mugging, or an attempted murder. I overheard you and Agent Fornell talking, and you can't be sure of anything. You don't even have a suspect!"

"But we do have a victim."

He held out a hand, but Jess crossed her arms. "I'm _not_ going with you, Agent Gibbs."

**Author Note: I messed up with the last update and ended up somehow putting all previous parts in the third chapter. I've fixed it. Sorry.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS…Only my character.**

Jess sat at Gibbs' kitchen table, a glass of cold water in her shaking hands. Gibbs was leaning on the counter, facing her, and Agent Fornell was standing by the door. Neither man was happy, not at all, and Fornell was looking at her, shaking his head.

"You're lucky it was Gibbs that followed you."

"Apparently I'm not too lucky," Jess said, straightening her leg to ease the pressure on her wound. "If I were, I'd be a hundred miles from here, headed west. It's a lot easier to hit a stationary target than a mobile one. None of you can argue with that. Besides, the longer I stay here, the more danger you all are in. I don't understand your determination. All you know about me is what you've dug up in my records, and there's no reason for either of you to care what happens to me. There's no crime involving the military, so that rules out NCIS, and there's no interstate crime, so that rules out the FBI. Yes, I took a bullet, but that's something for the locals to investigate, not you. And, since no one got a look at the guy who shot me, and you didn't get a shot of him on any of the cameras in the area, there's nothing to go on. So that pretty much sticks it in the cold case files, and leaves me twisting in the wind. Yes, whoever it was may come back and finish it, but I won't live my life worrying about dying. If tomorrow, they come after me again, then all I can hope is that the next shot is a little better."

"If it hadn't been for some quick thinking on Agent Fornell's part," Ducky said, coming through the door for his regular evening check on her, "you would have bled to death on that sidewalk a week ago."

"Maybe I should have," Jess snapped.

"You don't mean that," Gibbs said quietly.

"I do mean that," she said, and this time, she couldn't hide the tears in her eyes. "Ever since I lost my husband, I've spent almost every waking moment grieving, and most of the sleeping ones, too. I don't care if I die. I really don't. I've lost everything If I were dead, I wouldn't suffer this heartbreak anymore. So just leave me alone." She forced herself to her feet, wincing as her leg wound reminded her of its presence. "Since apparently the two of you have the tenacity of bulldogs, I guess I'll just go back to the dungeon."

"It beats the alternative," Gibbs reminded her.

"Whatever," she snapped, favoring her leg.

Ducky grabbed her arm when the leg gave on her. "You shouldn't be walking on that, my dear."

"It's healed enough that I haven't died yet," she growled.

"I'll sedate you if you don't settle down," Ducky warned her, his kind eyes warm with concern. "I don't usually care for the living in a medical capacity, given my area of specialty, but when I do, I prefer that the living remain that way."

She turned a cold eye on Gibbs and Fornell. "If I'd had time to analyze the situation before I reacted, I'd have stayed standing right where I was, and not ducked for cover. Next time, Fornell, keep your big mouth shut." With that, she passed out and collapsed on the floor.

"Help me get her to bed, Jethro," Ducky asked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS…Only my character.**

**Author's Note: Thank you for the feedback from my readers…If there's a plot hole I missed, something that's inaccurate, anything, let me know. As I said in my summary, this is my first attempt at putting my own writing out there for others to read, and the only way I'll know if it's any good is if people review or PM me and let me know. Thanks!**

Her husband's face hovered just beyond her range of vision, and Jess cried out to him, reached for him. His hands were warm, strong, just as she remembered. A part of her mind knew he couldn't be here, that she was dreaming, but the reality of his touch, his presence, was so strong. All too soon, though, he began to fade, to grow distant, and she struggled to stay with him. She struggled to get to him, but distance kept her from being able to reach him. She cried out his name, and then consciousness hit her, jolting her brutally awake, her throat raw, tears soaking her face. Gibbs held her tightly, and though she tried to staunch the flow of emotion, she couldn't. Her tears soaked her shirt, and his, but he didn't let go, didn't leave her. Part of her wanted to lash out and push him away, but the other craved comfort from someone, anyone, and she took it.

When at last unconsciousness claimed her again, blessedly leaving her mind blank, Gibbs eased her back down onto the pillow she'd already soaked with her tears. She was fevered, and he pulled out his cell phone, called Ducky. The medical examiner agreed to come and check on her, and Gibbs hung up, looked down at her. She was still restless, but it wasn't like before, when she'd come awake fighting and clutching for a dead man. This was restlessness caused, he guessed, by the fever that ravaged her body.

That diagnosis was confirmed by Ducky, upon his examination of the patient. The wound was mildly inflamed, indicating infection, and Ducky gave her the strongest antibiotics he had, along with a sedative to keep her under while the medication did its job, treating and re-bandaging her wound. "I will monitor her condition, Jethro, but this young woman needs to be in a hospital!" he insisted again. "Your basement is not a suitable replacement."

Gibbs sighed heavily. "If there was any way, Duck…"

A few hours later, a raging headache brought Jess back to full consciousness. She rolled onto her side, her eyes focusing in the dim light. Gibbs was sleeping on a sleeping bag at the foot of the stairs, and she guessed the reason was that he knew she couldn't step over him, and so felt safe in resting. She cradled her throbbing head on her arms. When that didn't help, she rolled over again, but the pain was even worse, so she sat up. That motion upset her rebelling stomach even more, and she grabbed for the trash can beside her, vomited into it.

The sound brought Gibbs awake immediately, and a second later, he was at her side, handing her a glass of water. The piercing emptiness of her stomach was calmed a little by the water, and when her vision cleared, she looked up at Gibbs with tortured eyes. "I'm sorry about earlier."

He shrugged. "What about?"

"Everything. But especially the scene just a while ago, when I think I was dreaming about my husband."

Gibbs shook his head. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I made a mess of your shirt."

"No big deal."

"I don't understand why it keeps coming back. I thought I put that all behind me."

"You're only lying to yourself," Gibbs said, sitting beside her. "You can't put a loss like that one behind you. You have to work through it, first."

"You act as if you speak from experience." When he didn't answer, she sighed. "Never mind. Did Dr. Mallard leave anything for headaches?"

Gibbs shook his head. "You weren't supposed to wake up before noon tomorrow."

Jess sighed. "Drugs never affect me the way they're supposed to. The leg's bothering me, but the headache is worse. And I can't really sleep, anyway, because the dreams get to be too much."

Gibbs nodded. "I know what you mean."

Jess didn't answer. She could see, despite her distraction, that this was a sensitive subject for Jethro Gibbs, and she didn't want to make his life any harder than it already was. She stretched out her leg, winced. "I wish this would hurry up and heal. It's annoying."

"Walking on it isn't the best way to get it to heal."

"Sitting here isn't helping, either. Why don't you just go back to sleep, Agent Gibbs. You've got a life to attend to, and I've got to sort out my brain."

"I'll take over for you, Gibbs," said another voice, this one unfamiliar to her

.

"Get some rest," Gibbs said, and went up the stairs with the other man.

Jess laid back down on her bed, trying to rest, to block out the headache and the heart-rending memories of her husband.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS…Only my character.**

**Okay…Here's the update.**

The other agent, who introduced himself as Anthony DiNozzo, helped her up the stairs to the kitchen the next morning. He'd started out flirting, but when she hadn't responded, he'd given it up. He gave her a glass of juice and a plate with eggs and toast, the most she would eat, and sat down across from her, a plate of his own in front of him.

Jess stared into the orange juice in her glass for a while before even noticing that DiNozzo was looking at her with a quizzical expression, waiting for an answer to a question she hadn't heard him ask. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked why a pretty girl like you isn't married."

She met his gaze with sad eyes. "Because I'm a widow," she answered. "My husband died a few months ago."

Tony's face took on a blush, and he closed his mouth, without another word.

"So you're my new babysitter, huh?" she asked conversationally. "Where's Gibbs?"

"At the office."

She nodded. "I thought he'd have to get back to work soon."

"Big case we're working on," Tony said.

"Interesting. Shouldn't you be at work, Tony?"

"Ducky will be here with another agent in about four hours, and then I'll be back at work."

"Must be annoying, sitting here babysitting me when you have such a fascinating job to go to. Why don't you just go? I'll be fine until Ducky gets here."

"Gibbs told me not to let you out of my sight."

"Gibbs is over-reacting. Don't worry about me, Tony."

As she'd hoped, Tony made the mistake of taking a trip to the bathroom a couple of hours later, and this time, when she slipped out, she was dressed and ready to go. She'd called a cab from the landline phone, to be waiting on the corner, and it was there when she made it to the corner.

This time, she didn't get stopped. And when the cab pulled into the motel parking lot, her truck was sitting where it was supposed to be. Although she'd lost the keys during the attack at the Washington Monument, she still had the spare, and she retrieved it and went to the office to get the key to her room. Although it had been a week, things were slow, and the manager was more than happy to give her the key to the room, where her things were still untouched, as she'd left them.

Jess paid the cab and the motel manager, packed up her things, loaded her truck, and started the engine. She was somewhat surprised that Gibbs hadn't stopped her before now, that he hadn't anticipated her actions. She felt that she had no choice, though, that she needed to go. Gibbs wasn't the only one that had gut feelings; she'd had the feeling in her gut for days, telling her that something was going to happen. For all she knew, the truck was wired to blow, and she'd be a goner any second now.

Snorting, Jess put the truck in gear, and backed out of her spot, pulled out onto the highway. She didn't have much gas, so she stopped at the first gas station she passed on her way to the freeway. Tank now full, she pulled back onto the freeway and headed back west.

Twenty miles west of DC, the OnStar light came on. A pleasant voice came on the line. "Miss Canton, this is Abby with OnStar. I have a call for you. Please hold…"

Jess sighed. She'd never activated the OnStar service in her truck, which she'd bought used a month before the death of her husband. For someone to be calling her via OnStar…it had to be Gibbs, or worse, whoever it was that was trying to kill her.

"Jess, where are you?" It was Gibbs, and he was furious.

"Why don't you tell me, Agent Gibbs? I assume you're tracking me, so you know exactly where I am. I'm going home, wherever that turns out to be."

There was a voice in the background, a woman's voice. "You're traveling on I-84 west," Gibbs said. "You just passed a gray Lexus sedan."

Jess looked to her right and there was indeed a gray Lexus just past her. "How do you know—" she looked in her rear view and noted the black Dodge sedan behind her. Gibbs waved. "I'm not pulling over, Gibbs," she said.  
I'm not going to stop. I want out of here."

"I can pull you over," Gibbs answered. "I can also detain you, officially, since you are a material witness to a crime."

"Don't play this game with me, Gibbs. The crime I was the victim of has not been reported, and it's not your jurisdiction, anyway, even if it was. I'll be fine on my own. Just let me go."

"I won't make that mistake," Gibbs answered, and sped up until his car was abreast of hers on the left. He had another agent with him, and this one, a younger man, made sure to avoid looking up at her. "Pull over, now."

Jess gripped the steering wheel and shook her head resolutely, knowing that Gibbs could see her. "I've got a full tank of fuel," she said aloud. "I'm not stopping." She changed lanes, merging into the extreme right lane.

"McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Jess heard the other agent in the car speak. "Almost there, Boss….Got it. Sending the signal now." She shook her head, held on to the steering wheel with a sardonic smile on her face, and keyed the phone off. What she figured was confirmed when the engine died suddenly. It took all the skill Jess had to hold the truck steady as she guided it to a stop on the side of the road, with traffic whizzing by. Gibbs pulled over in front of her, and she sat, waiting for him to make his way back to the door.

"That was a dirty trick, Gibbs," she said, shaking her head as Gibbs opened her door, also unlocked remotely.

"It worked," he agreed. "McGee will take your truck to a safe location, and you'll come with me. Let's go." His manner was brisk, and she sighed as she climbed out. Gibbs didn't speak to her further as he handed the keys over to McGee.

"Listen, Agent McGee," Jess said, as Gibbs escorted her to his car, "you'd better not scratch the paint!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS…Only my character.**

**Anthor's note: This is going to be the last update until probably Monday next week. Too much going on at home for me to take the time to post another chapter until then.**

**Thanks for the reviews and feedback…I'm glad you like it!**

Silence ruled in the car on the way back to Gibbs' house. Jess kept her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes gaze turned out the tinted window. Once parked in the driveway, Gibbs came around and opened the door for her. She stood up, with difficulty, ignoring the hand he held out to her. She limped slowly into the house, slumped into a chair at the table. "Why did you come after me?" she asked quietly after he came in.

Gibbs leaned on the counter, didn't turn toward her. "I have my reasons."

"This situation is not in your jurisdiction," she said. "I'm not military, and as far as you can prove, the guy who shot me could have been anyone, even a mugger. What is your interest in me? What's Fornell's?"

Gibbs didn't answer her. He poured himself a cup of coffee, stared out the window.

"Now I get the silent treatment," she muttered, more to herself than anything else. She was saved from saying anything further by the timely arrival of Ducky, along with a dark-haired woman.

"How are you feeling, my dear?"

"Not in need of your services as a medical examiner, anyway. That's about the best I can say."

"You should not be up and about," Ducky informed her, as he checked her vitals.

"I can't stay in bed for the rest of my life. I've got places to go, things to do, assuming I can ever get Gibbs to let me go."

"I heard about your break for freedom," the Englishman said with a gentle smile and a chuckle.

"I'm trying to make things easier on you all," she said, miserably. "I don't want anyone to be responsible for my well-being. Why the hell not take advantage of my willingness to go off on my own? Why chase me down and drag me back?"

Gibbs put his coffee cup down and left the room without a word, and the dark haired woman followed him. Ducky took her hand. "Did he ever tell you about his first wife?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't know he had one. I only know he was a Marine before he became an NCIS agent."

"While Jethro was in Iraq, during Desert Storm, she witnessed a murder, and was under guard by an NIS agent. One day, on the way home, the agent was shot and killed as he drove their van home. Gibb's wife and eight-year old daughter were killed in the crash that followed."

"Her name was Shannon," Gibbs said, from the doorway, startling Ducky. His face was unreadable.

"I'm sorry," Jess said. She shook her head. "I know what it feels like." She stood up, pushed the chair back to the table. "I don't want you to keep risking your life for me out of a misplaced sense of responsibility, Agent Gibbs. If you want to help me, give me my keys, and let me go. If you don't want to do that, then it's clear to me that this is personal, and that I'm as much a prisoner as a victim in this." She turned and walked away, turned back. "I'm not Shannon, Gibbs. You're not responsible for my life, for failing to be there for me. At best, it's my fault for not really paying attention to what's going on around me, and for not caring.

"You're going to end up in hot water with your boss for being out of the office too much, and I don't want to be the reason you lose your job. Investigating my shooting is the job of the city police. It's not your job, or Fornell's. And if it's too dangerous to let the police investigate it, then just forget it."

Gibbs just stared at her, the signature Gibbs glare turned on, but having no effect at all. Finally, he said, "It is the responsibility of a federal agent, when the suspected shooter may be a terrorist."

"Fornell said he thought the shooter was CIA."

"Not sure. We're investigating." The sarcasm in his tone was evident to her, but she chose to ignore it.

"Sometimes, Agent Gibbs, there isn't much difference." She left him standing in the kitchen, with Ducky and the dark-haired woman.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS…Only my character.**

**Anthor's note: Sorry about the delay in getting this story updated. I can't begin to explain, but here's another chapter…**

Jess was watching the local news on the TV Gibbs had set up for her, when the dark-haired woman came down the stairs a while later. "Mind if I intrude?" she asked.

"Make yourself at home," Jess said with a shrug. "It's not my house."

"Officer Ziva David, Mossad Liaison to NCIS," the other woman said, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

"You're not American, are you?" Jess asked the other woman.

"I'm Israeli."

"I assume you're not here to kill me?"

"I am on loan to NCIS, as a liaison officer between agencies, at Gibbs' request. And no, I am not here to kill you. Why do you ask?"

"I'm getting so many conflicting messages that I don't know what to think anymore."

"I know this is difficult for you."

Jess snorted, indicated her leg. "This may be something that people deal with where you come from, but this is America. These things aren't supposed to happen here."

"But they do happen here. Gibbs is trying to protect you."

"Why me? How many of his cases does he take such a personal interest in?"

"I have only known Gibbs for a couple of years. It is rare that he brings a case home."

Jess didn't point out that officially, she wasn't a case. "Why is that?"

"I don't think he trusts anyone else with your life."

"All I want to do is get in my truck and leave. I don't want to be a burden. If someone's really out to kill me, then I don't want anyone else getting shot trying to protect me. I'm not afraid of whatever might happen."

Ziva didn't answer right away. "Why?"

"Because what Gibbs does won't matter. Whether the guy who shot me is some sort of federal agent, or a terrorist, Gibbs risking his own life won't make any difference. I'm no safer here that I would be, sitting in my own living room in North Dakota."

"What's it like? Your home state, I mean."

"Flat grassland," Jess said. "I miss it, like I miss my husband."

Ziva absorbed what she said. "And what was he like?"

Taken aback, Jess had to consider. "His name was Ryan. He was tall, strong, and handsome, and he was my best friend. Losing him almost killed me. It still might."

"What happened to him?"

Jess shook her head. "Accident. I don't want to talk about this."

Shrugging, Ziva stood up. "I should check in with Gibbs. I am here if you want to talk." She started up the stairs.

"Officer David?"

"I am Ziva to all of my friends."

"Talk to Gibbs, please. I need him to let me go, no matter what happens. Help him to see that."

"You want me to help Gibbs see why he should let you go and get yourself killed? And without concern? How do you think I should do that?"

"Please just try. Things have been quiet, but you and I both know that that won't last forever. Something will happen, eventually. I don't want him to get killed when it does."

Four days later, Fornell came by, a sketch of the assassin in his possession, for Jess to look at.

"I don't know," she said. "I wouldn't recognize the man who shot me if I saw him again. You're the one who saw him, not me. Who is this?"

"His name is Kevin Winfree, or at least that's the closest I could get to his real name. He is a rogue agent who has been rumored to be associated with the CIA for a few years. Rumor also has it that he's one of the CIA's boys, but of course there's no proof of that.

"No matter how good he is," Jess said, her voice and eyes hard as diamond, "he's not bulletproof."

"What does that mean?"

She refused to say another word.


End file.
